Every year, Tod Caviness turns a handful of talented, sensitive poets into trained monkeys at the Fringe Poetry Vending Machine. Theatre patrons and random drunks at the Orlando Fringe give them a title and three words. This is what they give back.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

The Future Is

The future issky blue and burnt sienna crayolajagged and wildon a piece of yellow construction paper,a jetpack herostrafing x’s into the eyesof the past.

The future ischecking its watch again,waiting on a loverto come back home,flipping the channelson a thousand early morning dramasas she sniffs the flowerson the nightstand.

The future isthe next ragged breathand the whispered prayer,the next holy soundon the hospital monitoras he holds her handthrough the nightand waits for a smile.

--That's what they gave me: "The Future Is". Carte blanche except for the title. This was another of our poems from the Red Chair Affair, and possibly one of the more interesting ones. We worked our booth at the pre-show mingle in the lobby, and looking back I wish we'd had more time. I think people were just getting drunk enough to approach us by the time they were calling them in to the theatre, so about a third of our poems were rushed out in the last 20 minutes. Ah well. I just want everybody to know that the downer atmosphere surrounding this poem can be attributed to the fact that I was missing a performance by the Blue Man Group in order to get it done. Could hear them from out in the lobby and everything.